journal · poetry

The End

I never stopped to capture
the moments
the movements
the spaces in between
our words
and our thoughts
from shallow breaths
to quiet depths
of veiled emotion
not unheard
but left unspoken
in the madness
in half-failed attempts
to forget the striking sadness
the disastrous aftermath of endings
by building mountains
of beautiful beginnings
upon the rubble
it was second skin off
and second-guesses
to the wind
but we never unwound
into the middle of things
before finding
that this, too,
would end.

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